


Left to the Dogs

by petoju



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, but greek mythology is kind of smutty so maybe a bit?, no pairing really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petoju/pseuds/petoju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mythology AU snippet of the movie.  Arthur and Eames as long-forgotten gods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left to the Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any mistakes/inaccuracies. I tried to be as accurate as I could, I swear. Feedback would be lovely. Title from Garbage "Nobody Loves You".

"Where are you from?" Cobb once asked him, in a drunken stupor a lifetime ago over an empty bottle of Patron. 

He thought of his mother, then. She of the golden hair and soft hands, who bore him as both her despair and her glory. He thought of his glorious temple at Delos, crumbling into dust in the hot Mediterranean sun. His priestesses, his Pythia, wailing at the bottom of dank Hades. His vast treasuries at Delphi, plundered and forgotten.

He uncoiled his fingers from his glass and poured himself another shot. "Toronto."

__________________________

"Did you know, now, that Arthur has quite a few tattoos himself?"

Eames sprawled over the loveseat, indolent and graceless. He tipped his beer towards Arthur, uncaring of the froth that spilt over his hand. 

Half-drunk, Ariadne choked on her wine and sputtered uselessly into her sleeve. "What? No way." 

"It's true." Eames stretched lazily, like a cat, like a panther. "Now if you ask him nicely he might even show you, kitten." 

Ariadne giggled, high on the fine wine, and gave Arthur a look, "Really."

Arthur sat back and looked at Eames. Eames stared back, insolent and unconcerned. Then, inexplicably, it was Arthur who turned away first. "Sure.", he said, easy as graces. He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt, then took it off along with his undershirt. 

Eames laughed, "I see you really haven't changed a bit, dear. Always showing off for the lovely ladies."

Half-naked, Arthur was as lean as a whippet. Black ink coiled around his ribs like a dragon, like a python. Strange words are written across the fine wings of his collarbone, sharp and ominous. 

"Whoa." Ariadne said fuzzily, impressed. She raised her glass unsteadily in a mock salute and wolf-whistled. Eames grinned, showing his sharp canines. "Lovely. What does _γνῶθι σεαυτόν_ mean?", he asked. 

"You know the answer."

Eames sucked on the lip of his bottle briefly and smiled, seductive, "But I like to hear it in your dulcet tones, dear." Ariadne snorted before Arthur could respond and threw some chips at him, "Eames, don't be like that. I wanna know what it means."

Eames pursed his lips, as if he was telling a great secret. "It means ‘know thyself’."

Ariadne laughed and raised her glass for a toast, "Strangely appropriate, I guess. What does...that other one, meden something? What does that mean?"

" _μηδέν άγαν_. Nothing in excess." Arthur answered briskly this time, flat and emotionless. He slid his shirt back on and buttoned it smoothly. Ariadne laughed again and spilt her wine on the floor, "Oh Arthur, you're like some kind of a caricature of yourself." 

Eames laughed at that, but his eyes on Arthur were cold and menacing as a snake. 

__________________________

"I forget to ask, how's your sister nowadays?"

Arthur stopped typing and looked up, "Fine. How's your mother?"

Eames made a wounded noise, "Touche. That's quite a low blow, duck."

Yusef rattled a beaker at his bench, uncaring and oblivious. Saito tipped one well-groomed eyebrow at them. "I did not know you had a sister." Arthur lowered his eyes and said nothing. Eames raised his index finger and made a circle in the air. "Ah, but not just a sister, no? A _twin_."

Saito narrowed his eyes; he did not know this and does not appreciate the fact that he did not know. "Who is in the dream business also, I would presume?"

Arthur looked up then and gave Eames a hard look. He turned to Saito with his head lowered, deferential, "No. She works in the woods. She is a hunter."

"A _huntress_." Eames corrected.

__________________________

"Come with me tonight." Eames had said. And so here he is, deep in the sea of slippery bodies clad in sequins and leather, writhing like snakes to a tribal bass. There is a vague smell of dark wine in the air, damp and cloying. The women around him gyrate wildly around each other with blown pupils, clenching their hair in ecstasy. 

The supernatural frenzy around him stirs something ancient in his veins, something old and half-forgotten. Bloodlust, he thought.

"Just a bit of fun, flower." A tattooed arm threads around his waist, and Eames presses up against him. He thought he could smell mulled wine in Eames' breath, or crushed and old grapes in fertile soil beneath rich vines of old. 

"These are yours, then." 

"In a way."

"I'm not in the mood to fight you, Eames."

He twists away deftly, but Eames is quicker and catches him by the wrist to pull him closer, to laughs and whisper in his ear, "I mean no harm, Far-Darter."

Lightning flashes through Arthur’s veins and he hisses, burned, "Never call me that again." Eames placidly surrenders his wrist, a cool dark look flooding in his eyes. They stood opposite each other now, only a hand-width apart. Eames' hands are held up in a pacifying gesture, supplicant-like. The club seems muted suddenly, and someone in the distant crowd screams once in agony. A short, staccato note.

"We cannot deny who we are, _Helius_. Brother." Eames says softly, but not without venom.

Arthur bows his head and looks away. The scent of blood is in the air now, raw and metallic. Sparagmos, Arthur thinks vaguely. "Your madness shall be your downfall, Bromios."

Eames stills at his name and lowers his hands. He smiles gently, and the crowd around him screams in both anguish and rapture. There is blood now, seeping from darker reaches of the room to pool viscous and obscene around their feet. 

"I have always known that, _prophete_."


End file.
